


the weight of the galaxy

by Silver_Snek



Series: Snek's Star 'Verse [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: A Lot of Death, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Fix-It of Sorts, Liberal Use of Mando'a, Mando'a, Multi, Original Legion, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, i came up with a squad of clones and i love them all, so watch out for graphic descriptions of wounds!, thats just star wars tbh, the main character is a medic!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:21:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25978126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silver_Snek/pseuds/Silver_Snek
Summary: Serpent counted himself lucky. He grew up with all nine of his batchmates, unlike so many unfortunate vode. He wasn't decommissioned after the training accident that crippled him. He graduated top of his class as a medic.But in the wake of his first battle, his best friend is dead and he doesn't remember how to trust the person he had once carried the weight of the galaxy with.It could be worse, really.He could have been deployed to the 501st.
Relationships: Original Clone Trooper Character(s) & Everyone
Series: Snek's Star 'Verse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1907557
Comments: 7
Kudos: 20





	1. things go downhill fast

**Author's Note:**

> BIG thank-you to the Discord server I'm  
> on for helping me get the confidence to bring my squad to life! I have a lot of love for the Reptiles, and so many plans... please enjoy!
> 
> TW FOR GORE

Serpent was trying to contain his anxiety as he stared at the door of the dorms, holding the training helmet in hand and turning it over repeatedly, giving his hands something to do as he waited.

It clicked open, and several sets of eyes turned to the clone walking in the dorms. He was a quite bit taller than the others, with broader shoulders and wider stance, but he was unmistakably a  _ vod _ . “Reptiles.”

“Sir, yes, sir!” Serpent, and all the  _ vode _ around him, snapped to attention. He didn’t stand, personally, but he straightened his back and saluted. 

“At ease.” He waved it off, and offered a broad smile. “311 th Domestic Division. Specifically, the Aurora Legion. Hopefully we’ll be away from the front lines.”

“Aw, come on, Dragon!” Gecko pouted, but grinned as the sergeant’s name was followed by a smattering of tired “roar”s from his squadmates. “The front lines are my  _ dream _ , my  _ passion _ . I can’t blow  _ osik _ halfway to Corellia on  _ relief missions _ !”

Sergeant Dragon raised an eyebrow, utterly unimpressed, and then looked over at where Serpent and Salamander were leaning against each other. “ _ Vode _ ?”

“You’re an idiot, Gecko,” Serpent said without further prompting. Beside him, the other medic nodded empathetically. “You might like explosions and other banthakark like that, but I’d prefer to  _ not die _ , thank you.”

“We wouldn’t die on the front lines!”

“Gecko. My  _ leg _ .” The single, sharp word silenced the arguments he saw forming on the demolitionist’s tongue, and nine sets of eyes— all but Serpent himself— turned to the crippled limb. Outwardly, it looked perfectly fine— if not for the ugly scars decorating the knee, which had been shattered beyond repair and had to be replaced with a metal kneecap. 

Serpent hadn’t walked without a limp for years.

(He still blamed Gecko.)

“Just stop mentioning the front lines, Ko’ika,” Dragon sighed, stepping fully into the barracks. “Come on,  _ vode _ , we’ve got to catch a shuttle in thirty. Gotta go put on our new armor, don’t we?”

Immediately, Gecko brightened. “Oh, hels yeah! I can’t wait to get my hands on some paints.” He jumped up, grabbing Tortoise with a wide grin. “Come on, if we go fast enough we might be able to get to the supplying station faster than Melon and rub it in his face that—”

“Ko’ika, your armor’s right here.” Dragon’s lips twitched into a smirk as he hoisted a bag that made clanking sounds as he shook it. “Everyone else’s, too. I picked it up on the way here. They gave it to me since I was already picking up the ones made for you, me, and Pent’ika.”

Serpent frowned slightly at the reminder. He and Gecko were both undersized— a little too thin, an inch too short— and he could swear that Dragon had stolen his size from them. 

Bit by bit, Dragon handed the armor pieces out, letting his  _ vode _ sort through them. Salamander huffed in annoyance, pulling a helmet off of his head and passing it to Serpent. “This one’s yours, Serp’ika.”

“Stop calling me that,” he replied automatically, taking the offered helmet and sliding it on. “Yeah, this is mine. Then this one’s yours.” He slid over the one he had been holding, and Salamander nodded in thanks. 

“You said the 311th, right, Sarge?” Crocodile asked, looking up from the vambrace he was tightening. “Any idea where they are?”

“We’re going to Trandosha. In the Kashyyyk system.” He grimaced. “They’re on campaign there to clean up a slaver ring, if I remember correctly.”

“Slavers.” Serpent’s lip curled as he spat the word like the venom his namesake was famous for. “Give ‘em hell for me,  _ vode _ , while I’m stitching brothers up.”

“Seconded,” Salamander agreed, and the two medics shared a grin.

* * *

When they landed on Trandosha, Reptile Squad had traded quick farewells before Salamander and Serpent split away from their trooper batchmates and made their way to the medical tent.

Once inside, Serpent was immediately hit with the groans of wounded brothers.

“Shinies.” An exhausted-looking medic looked up at them, offering a weak smile. “About time we got reinforcements in here. Reptile Squad, right? Heard that one of you graduated top of the medic’s class.

“That’d be him,” Salamander grinned. “I’m Salamander, this is Serpent.”

“Where do you need us, Sir?” He met the other medic’s eyes steadily.

“Anywhere.” Serpent nodded once, shifting on his right heel and making his way to a cot on the far side of the tent, but was stopped at the call of, “Hang on, there. You’re wounded  _ already _ ?”

He swallowed hard. “No, Sir, my leg’s been crippled for some time. It won’t slow me down, Sir.”

“Alright, then.” He looked uncertain, but Serpent didn’t spare him another glance, already leaning over the poor  _ vod _ he had chosen.

“Can you speak,  _ vod _ ?”

“Y-yes,” he grunted, face screwed up in pain. It didn’t take Serpent long to find the cause— shrapnel in his abdomen. Damn, that was gonna be difficult to get out. “Hurts…”

“I know,  _ vod _ . Do you have a name? What’s your name?”

“I—  _ ungh _ — Trip— Tripwire.”

“Alright, Tripwire, I’m gonna need you to be really still.” He looked around, meeting the eyes of another medic and mouthing  _ anesthetic _ ?

To his extraordinary horror, he just got a pained expression and a shake of the head. No anesthetic. How did they not have anesthetic? Did they  _ run out _ ? 

He waved Salamander over. “Shoulders.”

“Got it.” His older batchmate moved to the head of the cot, taking hold of Tripwire’s shoulders and pressing down, keeping him in place. His his expression wavered as Tripwire whimpered in pain. 

“This is gonna hurt a  _ lot _ , Tripwire,” Serpent told his patient calmly, spotting the medic that had informed him about the anesthetics holding down his legs. He mouthed a quick thank-you, receiving a weak smile in return. “I’m gonna need you to take deep breaths, and  _ don’t stop breathing _ . You can’t move, either, understand?”

“Yeah, yes, I-I—  _ agh _ !” 

It didn’t take too long to extract the shrapnel. It was sharp, yes, but thankfully not twisted up. There were only a few smaller pieces that took a bit more finesse, but soon enough Tripwire was bandaged and out cold, probably exhausted from the ordeal.

And there were yet more troopers.

Wildlife attacks, blaster wounds, shrapnel, missing limbs, shattered bones. As the sun fell over the horizon on the first planet he’d ever been on besides Kamino, he could have sworn he’d seen it all. 

“Not bad, shinies.” The medic that had greeted offered a tired grin as he sat in front of the exhausted batchers. Salamander was asleep on Serpent’s lap, and he was content to let him rest. “I heard what you did for Pepper when I was out. Thanks.”

Pepper. He grimaced, recalling the bloody hand reaching for somebody the rest of them couldn’t see. The light fading from his eyes. “Trandoshans are  _ shabuire _ , using slugthrowers. Plasma might not be as effective, but it’s much more merciful.”

The medic’s face fell into a contemplative frown. “Can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought the same thing in the past couple weeks. But what I meant was, Pepper is— well,  _ was _ my batchmate. I’m glad he died with someone beside him, even if that someone wasn’t me.”

“He took a shot for the General, he said. I haven’t met her, yet, but if she’s good enough to take a slug for, then I’d like to think we’d get along.” Serpent shrugged minutely, looking over at him contemplatively. 

“She’s the worst when it comes to getting medical treatment,” the medic snorted. “I’m Harley, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, Harley.” Surprisingly, he found that he meant it.

“And I’m sorry to hear about your squad.” 

“It’s—” Serpent looked down, feeling his hands curl. “It’s not  _ fine _ , but we’ll make it. We made it when my leg got karked, we’ll make it now.”

A  _ minefield _ . A minefield was all it took to kill Crocodile and Alligator in one fell swoop. Tuatara was in critical condition, being transported up to the Venator in orbit above them, and even Dragon was shaken.

“Tuatara will pull through. I stitched him up as a cadet way too many times for him to be taken out my a little bit of shrapnel in his face.”

Harley barked a laugh. “Good attitude,  _ vod’ika _ .”

* * *

He woke up to the sound of gunfire.

“Up,  _ vod _ , up!” Someone— Harley— was pulling him to his feet, and he saw Salamander already standing, grabbing for his blaster. “They’re attacking the wounded! We’re outnumbered!”

His eyes went wide, and at once he located his helmet, almost slamming it on before grabbing his DC-15a sidearm from his hip and launched himself out of the tent, looking at the chaos just outside.

So many Trandoshans. 

And the guards were falling fast. 

Salamander froze, staring with huge eyes, and Serpent barely pulled him out of the way fast enough for a slug to miss him. “ _ Di’kut _ , are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“No!”

“What do we do?” The medic from before was standing behind them, shaking visibly. Serpent took a bit of comfort in that— he and Sal weren’t the only newbies out here.

“What’s your name?”

“I’m Patches.”

“Patches, do we have any form of armory?”

Harley spoke up as he was ducking behind an upturned cot to avoid the slugs that fore through the tent wall. “Over here. We keep the armor and weapons we strip off of the wounded on hand for when they’re healed enough to be on their feet.”

“Start handing out blasters to anybody that can shoot straight,” he decided swiftly, thinking of every time his batchmates had been wounded in a simulator and to win they had to keep shooting despite the pain. “Sal, you’re with me. We’ll make use of the grenades.”

* * *

“You two! With me!” One voice rose above the clamor, and the two medic brothers scrambled after the owner of the voice— Dragon.  _ Thank the stars _ , he thought, and immediately found his way to Axolotl’s side. His leg ached horribly, probably from running back and forth to duck behind cover while he lobbed explosives, but he still stood tall, waiting for the sergeant’s orders.

“Serp, Sal, cover Ax! Ko, Chem, start throwing dets! Tort, lay down some covering fire!”

And just like that, despite the noise and confusion, Reptile Squad fell into formation. They were down three members— all three of them making up the infantry of our squad— and two of them had been fighting for what had to be at least the past hour, but they found their familiar rhythm.

Serpent had no idea how many lives he’d taken with the blaster in his hands, but by the time the fighting was coming to a close, it felt like too much.

He sat down heavily behind the supply crate Axolotl had taken cover at, knowing his leg would have given out anyway, and leaned around the side, arm barely twitching from the backlash of his blaster going off. 

“Kark!” Axolotl swore, dropping his rifle. A DC-15A sniper. “Overheat!”

“ _ Now _ ?” Salamander exclaimed. 

“No, tomorrow!  _ Yes, now _ !”

There was a horrible pause as the three brothers traded glances, broken only as Serpent leaned around the side to fire off a few more shots. He spotted a fallen brother not far from them. “There’s a rifle over there,” he said weakly, gesturing to their dead  _ vod _ , his stomach twisting. 

“It’s under too much fire!” Axolotl hissed back, fumbling out his DC-17. “We can’t—”

Salamander shoved him down, already darting out of cover. Serpent froze, his mouth going dry as he saw at least three shots connect with the other medic’s body. Salamander stumbled, yanking the rifle from the fallen brother’s grasp and staggering back, dropping the rifle.

Serpent grabbed onto Salamander, immediately pulling him into his lap as he slammed his palm onto the most dangerous-looking slug hole, pressing his hand down hard in a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding.

He had no idea how much longer the battle went on, only that it ended only minutes later. Sal’s head was cradled in his lap, helmet set beside them, and the remains of Reptile Squad were clustered around the sniper and medics.

“Hey,  _ di’kut _ ,” he said, forcing the words out of his throat like he had been all day, tending to dying soldiers. “I’m the one with the lame leg. You were supposed to stick around and pick up the slack.”

Sal didn’t respond. 

Serpent’s shoulders shook as he began to sob.

* * *

Tuatara didn’t make it.

The Venator felt cold when he boarded, colder than the gunship had been. When the battle ended, and the campaign was over two weeks—  _ two weeks, it took two more weeks— _ later. His leg ached dully, and he stood at attention as a Togruta woman and a clone approached their squad. According to Dragon, the six of them had been ordered to wait for the commander before going to do whatever they wanted.

“General Mara, this is Reptile Squad,” the clone nodded. “Reptiles, I’m Marshal Commander Beskar.”

They saluted simply. Serpent felt too tired to even speak. 

“Sergeant Dragon, Sir,” Dragon nodded, and gestured to each of them as he listed off their names. “These are my men; Axolotl, Gecko, Tortoise, and our medic, Serpent.”

“I’ve heard impressive things about you,” the violet-skinned Togruta hummed, a smile lighting up her face. “You were the ones that defended the wounded when the Trandoshans attacked them?”

“Yessir.” 

“Then I must thank you all for it.” General Mara bowed, and Serpent could have tripped over his own two feet if he was walking. Instead, he settled for blinking stupidly. “It was dishonorable of them to attack those who could not defend themselves, and despite your numbers you fought off their assault wonderfully. Many more would have died had your squad not intervened.”

“Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“Of course, Sergeant.”

“I was only there because two of my batchmates are medics. Serpent and Salamander were leading the defense, the rest of us just arrived in time to help a bit. They deserve the credit for keeping the Trandoshans back for as long as they did.”

“Serpent and Salamander?” General Mara’s eyes skimmed over them, and Serpent sighed internally before taking off his helmet, clipping it to his belt. He was too tired to give a damn about regs, no matter how hard Tortoise glared at him for it.

“That’d be me, Sir. Salamander… didn’t survive the attack.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Funny how she sounded almost genuine. He almost wanted to believe her, too. “I’ll leave you six in the capable hands of Commander Beskar. Farewell, for now.”

As she began to turn, Serpent noticed a streak of teal where her foot had been. He narrowed his eyes at it, and then watched as she began to walk away.

“Medbay, General. You’re walking with bloodied feet.”

Commander Beskar whipped around to stare at her accusingly. “Again, General?!”

“I can assure you, it’s nothing but a blister—”

Serpent broke away from Axolotl’s side, studying her gait as she tried to back away. She was  _ definitely _ wounded, and teal dripped steadily onto the tiles under her feet. “And my knee’s only bruised, Sir. Come on.”

She began to protest, but she was picked up in a bridal carry by none other than Gecko.

He almost snapped at his brother, yelled at him to go away, but as he reached for the familiar anger he wreathed himself with whenever they crossed paths after the accident, he only felt numb. 

“Medbay,” he said firmly, and shot a glare over his shoulder at Dragon. “You four had better be in there by hour’s end or I’ll hunt you down and drag you there myself.”

Dragon nodded, even as Chameleon scowled, crossing his arms. “I’ll herd ‘em there myself, Pent’ika.”

“Whatever.” 

The Togruta general had fallen silent, observing them quietly— she at least knew when to admit defeat. As Gecko and Serpent walked side-by-side down the halls of the Venator, taking turns and shortcuts Serpent had long since memorized when he first got his hands on a Star Destroyer map, she spoke again. “You’re twins, aren’t you?”

Serpent faltered, and Gecko slowed to a stop a few steps ahead. 

Bitterness crawled up Serpent’s throat, but it didn’t leap to his tongue. Instead, he just sighed, feeling the weight of the galaxy crushing his shoulders. “We haven’t been twins for a long time, General.”


	2. paints

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Serpent is stressed and overworking himself, so Commander Beskar decides to take matters into his own hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW FOR SELF-HATE  
> tbh poor serpent needs a lot of karkin therapy, he cant stop blaming himself for literally everything that isn't his fault

“Oh, thank  _ kark _ , we need all hands on deck.” Harley’s stress-lined face greeted Serpent as he led Gecko (who was holding the General, still) into the medbay. “We lost so many medics down there, there’s only me, you, Patches, and whoever that  _ vod _ is.”

“I’m… not a medic,” he said awkwardly, settling General Mara on an open medical bed. “Sorry. I’m— I’m Serpent’s squadmate, Gecko.”

“Oh.” Harley’s face fell, but he shook his head, steeling it. “I need you to go and track down Lieutenant Rook for me, alright? He’s got a blaster wound on his shoulder that needs re-dressing. Patches, take a look at the General.”

Serpent glanced around and made his way to the side of a wounded trooper. “Heya,  _ vod _ , how ya feelin’?”

“Like I got hit by a speeder,” he grunted back. “ _ Augh _ , the long-necks don’t tell you how much it karking hurts to break your ribs.”

“Yeah, well, most cadets figure it out on their own. I’m gonna need you to sit back—”

* * *

He hadn’t come out of the medical wing in over a week.

He didn’t really notice. Not really. When he got too tired to hold a scalpel without shaking, he slept on one of the empty beds. Not that there were many of those. When he got up, he’d spend exactly fifteen minutes in the refresher, spend another fifteen minutes cleaning his armor, and then get back to the grind.

There were so many  _ vode _ that had been wounded on Trandosha, so many brothers he held the hands of as they died. One that he remembered particularly was Kent, a brother that had gotten a chest full of shrapnel. They thought he would pull through— the wounds hadn’t been deep— but an infection set in only a day after he was released from the medbay, and he died the next morning. 

So Serpent kept working. 

Today, he was silently wrapping Commander Beskar’s hand. His knuckles were split, weeping crimson blood, and Serpent was simply too exhausted to tell him off.

“You look like you need a long night’s rest in the barracks,  _ vod’ika _ ,” the commander remarked quietly.

“I need to be here,” he replied. “Can’t let a brother die on my watch.”

“You three have done incredibly. It’s a miracle how much you’ve pulled off with only the three of you in here.”

“It’s not  _ enough _ .”

“You’re doing everything you  _ can _ , Serpent’ika.” He paused at the nickname, glancing up at Beskar in confusion. The commander smiled back, looking tired and stressed and  _ worried _ , but why for him? “I was made Marshal Commander of the 311th for a reason. General Mara saw how dedicated I was to the  _ vode _ . I’m not gonna let you work yourself to death. Go to the barracks, get some actual  _ sleep _ . Paint your armor after. Talk to your squadmates. I know some brothers that can handle the situation in here.”

“I can’t just—”

“That’s an  _ order _ , Private.”

He shut his mouth with an audible  _ click _ , and Serpent scowled. “Yes, sir.” He tied off the bandages, and then Beskar looped an arm around his shoulders.

He hadn’t actually been to the barracks. Yeah, he’d seen the maps,  _ memorized _ them, but as Commander Beskar led him through the halls, seeing the grins shot their way by brothers they passed, it was very different. The ship wasn’t as cold as it had felt when he first arrived, but still, there was an empty space at his side where Salamander had stood for years.

When they finally made it to the barracks, the first thing he noticed was that it looked… homey. Like the kinds of places you would see in holos. There were couches and rugs all over the place, with  _ vode _ lounging about, and even though the bunks looked standard-issue they were full of personality. A few had quilted blankets, others were painted, still others were occupied by brothers playing sabacc. 

“Hey, Reptiles,” Beskar called, and Axolotl and Gecko looked up from where they were playing sabacc. “Just you two?”

“The others are at the range,” Axolotl agreed, shuffling his cards back into the deck before standing and walking over to Serpent and the commander. “Haven’t seen you in a while, Pent’ika.”

“He’s been overworking himself trying to take on the duties of five medics. Make sure he sleeps, won’t ya?”

“‘Course we will.” At once, Gecko was on his feet, dragging Serpent over to one of the bunks and practically pitching the medic in. In reply, Serpent growled, trying to sit up, and Axolotl promptly flopped onto the bunk next to him. Gecko laughed, starting to take off Serpent’s armor, and he whacked the demolitionist’s hand.

“Hey! Cut it out.”

“You don’t want to sleep kitted up,  _ vod’ika _ ,” he pointed out, and slowly it registered to Serpent that both of his squadmates were in their blacks. Grumbling, he helped strip off the armor, carefully setting it down at the foot of the bunk, before Axolotl dragged him to his chest. Gecko clambered over them, settling on Serpent’s other side, but he didn’t reach out for him.

Axolotl was snoring peacefully within seconds, and Serpent envied that as he looked at his once-twin, who had his eyes shut tight but obviously not asleep. All his squadmates were absolute banthakark at lying. 

It was instinct to reach out and yank Gecko into his own grip, but he didn’t. For a moment, Serpent let himself think about their days as little cadets, old enough to wonder if they would survive the war but young enough to think they could, holding each other after Serpent snuck into Gecko’s pod when the lights went out. 

Then he thought about the accident. Just like he had every day for the past three years.

They had found a slugthrower. One of the trainer’s, probably. Gecko was messing with it, and Serpent pleaded with him to  _ stop _ , but he was fiddling with the trigger and all it took was a little too much pressure—

_ BANG! _

— and his knee was a bloody mess, he was screaming and afraid and  _ hurting _ .

He rolled over, facing Axolotl instead, and ignored the stab of pain lancing through his chest at shunning his brother again.

(It was still his fault, after all. If he had just listened to Serpent, if he had just put the slugthrower down, then Serpent wouldn’t be lame in one leg and teetering on the brink of being completely useless.)

But he let himself drift off to sleep.

And when he woke up, still being held tightly by the sniper with his former twin nowhere in sight, he tried not to feel guilty. 

* * *

He stared at the helmet in front of him.

There were a few dings and scratches, but the serious ones had been repaired. The entire set of armor was the blank white of a shiny, except for the red medic’s symbol on his left pauldron. 

The colors were violet and teal, the same colors of General Mara, with her violet skin and teal lekku stripes. Beside him, Dragon had painted violet dragon wings on the back and was now carefully filling in the flame decals that covered the rest of his armor. Tortoise went with basic teal stripes and a teal shell lined in violet over his heart. Chameleon, being a nerd, had painted elaborate circuitry. Axolotl had gone with teal camo with violet vambraces. Gecko had a surprising lack of flames, instead painting the fin of his helmet teal and a violet triangle on his breastplate. 

Hesitantly, Serpent took one of the thinner brushes, dipping it in the teal before getting to work. The broader brush was used in violet, though. 

An hour later, if he was rounding down, he laid the pieces out to dry. 

Teal snakes curled around his vambraces and on his helmet. His left leg was entirely teal up to the knee, and the rest was covered in basic purple stripes. A purple salamander decorated his right calf, looking to be climbing up his leg. 

“You did good,  _ vod _ ,” Dragon grinned. 

“Thanks.” Hesitantly, he smiled, looking over at his sergeant. At the moment, though, they weren’t sergeant and medic— they were Dragon and Serpent. Brothers. Batchmates.

“I mean it, Serpent. You did good.”

He blinked, staring at Dragon. “It’s just paint.”

“Not what I was talking about.” Dragon’s expression flickered into sadness, but it was gone when Serpent blinked. “I meant… you did good. Ever since we were deployed. You’ve done good. Kept your head, helped people. Just don’t forget that, alright? You did  _ good _ .”

He thinks back to the night before, turning around and refusing to acknowledge Gecko. He thinks of Salamander’s silence after his plea. He thinks of Alligator and Crocodile and Tuatara. He thinks of Pepper, of Kent.

“I’ll try to,  _ ori’vod _ .”


	3. recovery isnt linear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look back at Serpent's cadet days. More specifically, after the accident.

1,092 DAYS BEFORE DEPLOYMENT

Consciousness came in bits and pieces.

The first thing he was aware of was the mind-numbing pain coming from his leg, which was quickly followed by awareness of an IV in his arm and the fact he was in a medical cot, not his shelf. 

“You’re awake!”

A familiar face filled his vision, though that wasn’t saying much. Everyone shared a face. Minus the Kaminoans. He tried to reply, but only a groan of pain fell from his lips. 

Salamander, it was  _ Salamander _ , frowned worriedly. “Do I need to give you more pain meds?”

“N-no,” he gasped out immediately, shaking his head. The Kaminoans kept a close eye on pain meds, and if they deemed that a medic was using too much on a cadet, the cadet would be decommissioned for being  _ too weak _ . “Just— just— no.”

“What do you remember,  _ vod’ika _ ?” 

He blinked, pain and confusion swirling together to dim his gaze. Serpent sucked in a pained gasp, hissing a soft swear through his teeth.

“Serpent?”

“I’m fine,” he lied, dismissing the concern in his batchmate’s voice as he tried to gather himself, casting back his memory to before he woke. “Gecko. Gecko had a slugthrower.”

“There was an accident. It… it went off and hit you.”

“What… what’s wrong with me, then?”

Sal frowned, a pained look crossing his face, before it slipped into smooth professionalism. How odd it would be to see on the human equivalent of a fourteen year old, if Serpent was anyone normal. No, he saw that expression in the mirror. “All of the ligaments and muscles surrounding your knee are either torn or damaged. Your kneecap was shattered completely, and it’s been replaced with a simple durasteel cap. With extensive physical therapy and given enough time to heal, you could walk without a limp, though you would suffer chronic pain. The other choice is to have an amputation.”

_ Amputation _ . The word rung hollow between the brothers, and Serpent cast his eyes down before squeezing them shut. He wasn’t stupid, he knew what amputation meant for clones. It meant decommissioning. No  _ jetii _ would want a broken soldier.

Though, like the sword of Damocles, decommissioning swung over his head. A threat that would linger for as long as he lived. Even if he didn’t choose to go for amputation, the idea of physical therapy was a joke. If he wasn’t up to standards the moment he was out of the medical wing, he was off to be decommissioned. 

“How long do I have?”

“A month.”

_ A month _ . The calculations ran through his head at lightspeed, times clicking together like puzzle pieces. With bacta and the various other medicines they had available to them on Kamino, it would take a tenday and a half for the damage to heal— or, heal as well as it could, considering that it would just scar and barely do its job right. Physical therapy could take two months, even three, he had half of  _ one _ to get back to standards after his leg was “functional” again. 

“It’s not ideal, but… we can at least try.”

Vaguely, Serpent hummed in return, and bit back another gasp as a lance of pain shot through his body. He let sleep take him.

1,077 DAYS BEFORE DEPLOYMENT

“Slow down, Pent’ika, you’re gonna hurt yourself—”

Serpent grit his teeth as he paced forward, ignoring how his leg screamed in pain at the effort, ignoring how it almost buckled under his weight with every step. Instead, he kept his back straight and he limped back and forth across the room.

“Serpent, stop!” He froze, feeling eyes on his back. This voice was slightly deeper than Salamander’s, definitely more authoritative. Slowly, he turned to face the door. 

Dragon pushed his way in, shooting Sal a quick glance before striding over to where the wounded medic-in-training stood. His expression was stone, but Serpent saw worry flickering beneath it. 

“Pent, you’re not… it’s not gonna do you any good to hurt yourself more.”

“I have to get better,” he snapped back. “I have to be able to  _ run _ , to pass their exams, I have to show them I’m not  _ useless _ !”

“You’re not useless—”

“I’m a karking  _ cripple _ !”

Serpent’s words had a visible effect. Dragon took a step back, several of the other medics looked away, and Salamander went completely still. He didn’t  _ want _ that, but  _ still _ , his hands came up to run through his hair. Finally, he spoke again. 

“I-I’m crippled. I’m damaged goods. Even, even if I, I can pass their tests, I’ll be defective. I, I don’t want to— I can’t—” his voice broke, hands falling to his sides as he sank to the floor, durasteel cold and soothing to his throbbing leg. “If, if I’m not good enough, I’m dead. Reptile Squad loses their first member. If I  _ am _ good enough, I’m still a defective. A  _ bad batcher _ . I can’t… I’ll never be enough. I have to, to make the cut.”

Tears stung his eyes, and there was a hand on his back. Someone was talking to him, but it wasn’t Dragon or Sal. It was someone that was missing a few inches, just like him, crouched down and murmuring assurances. The agony almost seemed to fizzle out, and an unfamiliar feeling roared hot in his chest, filling his lungs with fire and his mouth with venom. Serpent jerked away, and stood, glaring accusingly at his twin.

“This is  _ your fault _ !”

Gecko reeled back like he’d been struck, and Serpent backed away, the feeling vanishing. “I—”

“Ko, just let him be. He… he needs to rest.” Dragon led Gecko out of the medical wing, and Serpent found his way to the cot he’d been sleeping in for the past two tendays, shutting his eyes and pretending that nothing was wrong.

1,056 DAYS BEFORE DEPLOYMENT

It wasn’t until half a tenday after the test when Serpent found a name for the emotion.  _ Anger _ . The feeling was so wildly unfamiliar that the first few times, he almost thought he was sick. Serpent rarely got  _ angry _ . Annoyed, plenty. He’d spent all seven of his years chasing after his batchmates and wrestling them into the medbay, after all. 

But anger was new. 

Maybe it was the pent-up stress leftover from the hours spent pacing. Maybe he hit his head and something got knocked loose. Whatever it was, he was angry and he didn’t like that feeling in the least.

But here he was, spitting vitriol at his brother.

“You don’t get to act like everything is fine! It’s not! Nothing about this is okay! I’m going to be playing catch-up for the rest of my karking life, Gecko, and it’s  _ your fault _ !”

“Serp—”

“ _ Shut up! _ ” Immediately, Gecko’s mouth slammed shut, and Serpent raked his fingers through his hair, feeling his breathing become more and more labored. “Just— it’s your karking fault! If you ever  _ listened to me _ , if you just kriffing put the slugthrower down, none of this would have happened!”

“Serpent!” Dragon’s voice cut in, but Serpent ignored him completely. It didn’t matter what his sergeant thought. The medic-in-training had things to say and damnit, he was going to  _ say them _ . 

“I can’t walk right because of you! Because you couldn’t put your head on straight and remember which one of us was decanted with the  _ karking brain _ !”

“That’s  _ enough _ , you’re  _ twins _ , you shouldn’t—”

“He’s not my twin.” The words pulled Serpent up short, and guilt stung his chest like a blaster bolt, but he didn’t take it back. Instead, he kept going. “Twins don’t cripple each other.  _ Twins _ don’t ignore each other’s warnings. He isn’t my twin. Not anymore.”

With that, he turned, storming off to the medbay, ignoring Dragon’s shout after him and the wheezing gasp from Gecko. 

It didn’t matter. 

Nothing mattered. 

And as the fury drained away, leaving nothing but the guilt-ridden shell of a clone, Serpent launched himself into his studies, silently going through the surgery sims with emotionless precision.

Instead, his mind was in another place.

Advanced Recon Force Scout Trooper. ARF Trooper, for short. They were the backbone of the army, the informants, the spies. They could tail a smuggler through Hutt Space with deadly accuracy, plan attacks in the blink of an eye. They were the support, the unrivaled recon masters.

Every trooper dreamed of being an ARC, but not Serpent. He’d had his heart set on being an ARF since their lessons covered them. 

But they didn’t accept  _ defectives _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the beginning of serpent's physical recovery, as well as the beginning of his mental health's decline.


	4. promoted, pt. i

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Serpent gets promoted.

“Congrats on the promotion, Serpent.”

“The what?” The medic looked up from the datapad at his older brother. “What are you talking about, Dragon?”

Around him came the less-than-energetic “roar”s that usually followed Dragon’s name, and the sergeant sighed in exasperation. 

“Your  _ promotion _ . Harley’s second-in-command. Next in line to be the CMO.”

For a long moment, Serpent stared at his  _ ori’vod _ , entirely uncomprehending. “... huh?”

Dragon snorted. “Okay, let me spell this out for ya,  _ kih’vod _ . The shinies we got sent? There are a lot of shinies. Especially for you medics, since there are supposed to be a hundred in a legion. So, ninety-seven fresh-off-Kamino medics. Harley needs a command structure. He named you his second-in-command, because you are obviously the best medic to come from Kamino  _ ever _ , and Patches his third because Patches is the only other one with experience.”

Slowly, Serpent released a breath. “Great. I’m babysitting a hundred shinies  _ and _ you lot.”

“Hey now,” Chameleon protested good-naturedly. “I’m a  _ delight _ .”

“You are  _ not _ .”

“Look at it this way, Pent’ika,” Dragon swiftly changed the topic, “you’ll be the  _ ori’vod _ of a hundred-odd medics. They’ll look up to  _ you _ .”

In reply, Serpent just grumbled, looking back at his datapad. “That explains this, then. I’m being asked to put together a squad of the best medics. I already have myself, Patches, and Harley, but I don’t trust any of the shinies yet.”

“I’ll break my leg and you can evaluate a couple,” Axolotl offered, much to the medic’s chagrin. 

“Absolutely not.” Just as he was going to deliver a follow-up insult, Dragon’s comm chimed twice. All eyebrows lifted. Priority message.

He tapped the  _ receive _ button, and the marshal commander’s voice sounded from the speaker.  _ “All command staff to the bridge.” _

“That’s us,  _ vod’ika _ .” Dragon lifted Serpent from where he had been slumped on the creaky couch, passing the medic his helmet. “Welcome to the glorious life of constantly being called to briefings.”

“Not as much as Lieutenant Rook,” Gecko sniped, and Serpent frowned. He hadn’t met that particular  _ vod _ yet. “Or Captain Rook. Or—”

“I get it, I get it,” the sergeant sighed, and Serpent rolled his eyes, grabbing his  _ ori’vod _ by the arm and already dragging him from the barracks.

Arriving at the bridge was simple enough. It was the organization of th entire command staff that was difficult. Most were listening from comms, so only about three dozen of the command staff were physically present, including Serpent, Dragon, General Mara, Marshal Commander Beskar, and a natborn in  _ beskar’gam _ he was trying really hard to not think about. 

Serpent ended up wedged between Harley and a natborn in  _ beskar’gam _ . He tried not to stare at them, focusing instead on the marshal commander. 

“Aurora Division, specifically Tempest Legion, is being sent to meet the 7th Sky Corps on Ryloth. They will be clearing out the Separatists, but our objective is to rescue the citizens and track down where the kidnapped Twi’leks have been taken.” Beskar’s voice was clipped as he spoke, simple and factual, but there was a tightness at the corners of his eyes that betrayed his worry. “Lance Corporal Harley, you and the medics are front-and-center for this deployment. Many of the Twi’lek prisoners will be in poor shape and in need of medical attention.”

“We’ll be up for it, Sir,” came Harley’s uncharacteristically grim tone, and he scanned the small crowd, eyes lighting upon Serpent. “Private Serpent. Relay the orders to Private Patches and the others. Do we have ETA?”

“Three hours. Dismissed.”

The bridge was a flurry of movement as Serpent escaped from it, making his way to the medbay in record time. As he half-shoved the door open, several shinies looked up in surprise.

“Private Patches.”

Patches stood from where he was probably dragging himself through datawork, and picked his way across the room to Serpent. “What’s wrong?”

“We have orders. In three hours, we’re touching down on Ryloth. We’re going to be rescuing Twi’lek prisoners, so we need everyone prepped and ready for the worst. Keep civilian casualties to a  _ minimum _ .” He rose his voice a bit so that the surrounding shinies would hear him. “Our  _ vode _ are important, but civilian lives come first. Understood?”

“Sir, yes, Sir!” came the echoing reply, and Serpent almost smiled to himself, just as the door slid open again and Harley came in, looking utterly exhausted.

“Serpent, just knock me the kark out. Wake me up before we land.”

“Okay?” He didn’t even have to use a sedative, Harley just collapsed onto a cot and fell asleep. Serpent sighed, shaking his head. Today was going to be a long, long day. He could  _ feel _ it. 

The campaign had started out fine. The 7th Sky Corps led the charge, and Tempest trailed in their wake, only on the front lines if there were hostages or just high levels of civilians that needed help.

That being said, things were not going well. 

“Hey! Serpent, right?” General Mara’s voice carried over the din of the battle, and Serpent grunted angrily, busy being elbow-deep in some poor Twi’lek that had been caught in an explosion. “Need some help with that?”

“Unless you can use your  _ jetii _ magick to purge the shrapnel from his body without hurting him, nope.”  _ Normally _ , he wouldn’t be preforming impromptu surgery in the middle of a warzone with several civvies staring at him in horror, but Harley was with him and keeping the civvie from bleeding out, and there weren’t exactly a slew of other options. 

She hopped over anyway.

“I’ve got it,” Serpent announced quickly, carefully extracting the last piece of shrapnel from the bomb and casting it aside. “I’ll stitch ‘em up.”

“Nah, watch this. Shiny medic!” Some shiny medic that had the misfortune of being in the general vicinity scurried over, already opening his medpack. “Put this civvie back together, will ya?”

“Yessir!”

With that, Serpent hauled himself back up to his feet, scowling as a red bolt of plasma went sailing past his head. General Mara’s ‘saber, a dark emerald, whizzed beside his ear, knocking it back and taking down the offending droid who had shot it. “Something you need, General?”

“Beskar’s taken a hit, he needs help.”

“You go, I’ll direct the shinies,” Harley said easily. “I’ll be on squad comms.”

“I’m sure you will. See ya.” He turned, hurrying after General Mara, who seemed to be absolutely content with taking the most direct path, which he would appreciate more if it wasn’t directly through a few dozen droids that she began to cut her way through. Serpent sighed, blasting a few that had gotten into her blind spot. 

“Oh, thank you!” Mara shot him a sunny, fang-filled smile, and Serpent had to fire a bolt over her shoulder so she wouldn’t be blasted in the head by a B1 at point-blank range. “There’s a tank up ahead!”

A tank? Oh,  _ great _ . “Let me guess, the Commander’s on the other side?”

“You got it! I’ll go and fight the tank, so you can get to him.”

“I can’t exactly walk through the tank.”

And without warning, he was weightless, wind whistling past him as he was  _ thrown _ . Below, he saw some droids glancing up and pointing, but they were quickly distracted by the dark green  _ jetii’kad _ being swung at them. Serpent landed with a strangled yelp on the other side of the tank, falling in a heap. 

The world spun, and he tried to process what just happened.

_ Did General Mara just _ throw _ me with her  _ jetii _ magick? _

He didn’t have time to dwell on that, because he saw the natborn in  _ beskar’gam _ from before crouched above the prone form of Commander Beskar, firing at a droideka.

Serpent stumbled to his feet and limped over to the ‘deka, doing the only rational thing he could think of: sticking his arm through the shield and yanking out the wires at its neck.

The ‘deka went down, sparking, and Serpent made his way to the natborn and commander. “Private Serpent, I’m a medic. Please step back.”

A voice in his helmet sighed, and he recognized Harley’s unique inflection.  _ “Ah, Captain Rook. Not to be confused with Lieutenant Rook. They’re friends, though. Unpersonable Mandalorian with a chip on her shoulder the size of Coruscant.” _

Captain Rook moved back to give him room, and Serpent assessed the damage. Single blaster hole, seared through his abdomen. Might have hit his stomach. Poor  _ vod _ . “Put pressure on it,” he ordered swiftly.

There wasn’t much to  _ do _ , other than stick bacta patches on it and wrap the area tightly to prevent him from bleeding out, but Serpent was doing his best. 

_ “Hey, Serpent, General Kenobi just called a victory on his end. As soon as we wrap up here, we can head back to the Venator.” _

“Good,” he grunted in response. “Can’t wait to get off this rock.”

_ “It’s not Geonosis, that’s for sure!” _

“Well, that doesn’t make this situation much better,  _ Sir _ .”

_ “I know, I know.” _

“If you  _ know _ so much, why don’t you—” he was cut off by a massive explosion, and he looked up just in time to see the final push of droids trying to gun down the clones. 

A few  _ vode _ fell, he knew it, but in only minutes the droids were gone. 

Slowly, Serpent looked around.

The battle was over.

Thank the  _ ka’ra _ .


End file.
